


Defiance

by ezziesworld (orphan_account)



Series: The Depraved Adventures of Joker and You [6]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Biting, Cop Reader, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Powerplay, Public Sex, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23562970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ezziesworld
Summary: Good, straight edge cop wants to know what the Joker feels like.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Reader, Joker (DCU)/You, Joker/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Depraved Adventures of Joker and You [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696144
Comments: 3
Kudos: 75





	Defiance

There was a distinct difference between seeing someone, and then _seeing_ someone. Joker’s face had been saturating the media for weeks now, on every single newspaper cover and every five minutes on the clock during Gotham City News, he was the big story, the poster child for Gotham’s mass-market on home security- _-When will the clown strike next? Invest in your safety today!_

You expected the encounter to ring lackluster, _he’s just a man, after all._ You were wrong, on all counts. Laying eyes on him in person was akin to marveling at a rare species of bird, or an endangered sociopathic purple predator. You can slide on over to the internet and pull up some pictures of his face. Blood red Glasglow smile, yellowed teeth like a monster, up close and personal with the help of his homemade videos, but it couldn’t compare to seeing him in person.

Granted, he was hanging upside down precariously by the wire of Batman’s hook gun. The fleeting image of a graceful acrobat coming to mind, the theme of the circus being macabre horror. He emitted a sort of deadly energy, even as he flailed absently in the air, the threat of falling seemingly lost on him. It was no secret the clown was dangerous, lived a sort of touch-and-go lifestyle that embodied chaos with every breath through his crimson lips. But you had to admit, you’d never seen someone so unnervingly calm as their life quite literally held on by a string.

You approached cautiously, a hand on the butt of your gun on instinct as you eyed the wire that tethered him.

“Evenin’, _officer_.” Joker piped up, his nasally voice strained as he waved his long arms around. He looked like he was trying to swim through the air.

“You’re lucky the Bat’s got good aim.” You remarked, noting the way the hook wrapped completely around his ankle, snagged on the width of his shoe. It looked sturdy enough, holding him despite the mass of his body and the haphazard movement of his arms.

Batman had quite the opportunity here; the instigator of all Gotham’s chaos in the past weeks had nearly fallen to his death. _What a coincidence that would be._ Filing the paperwork for that would have been as easy as swiping it under the rug, complete with a resounding sigh of relief from both the citizens of the city, and it’s police force. A _coup de grace_ that wouldn’t tarnish the vigilantes no killingreputation _,_ and a bit of closure for the many victims the clown had acquired. However, the Joker would have won if that were the case, his death would be the equivalent of knocking over the Bat’s queen, a finishing, posthumous victory that he would probably laugh about in the afterlife. And so, you’re left with the remnants of their destroyed chess board, the clean up.

At least Batman made it easy.

“Reel him up–and watch for knives.” You took a step back, watching.

“Oh–don’t worry about _that_ , _ma’am.”_ Joker began, giving a grunt as a handful of the SWAT began pulling him in. Jerky movements that had him rising and falling as though he were inverted on a trampoline. “I’m outta the game, now.”

“Your _game_ got people killed.” You replied, bitterly. “You think I’ll trust someone’s word when their idea of _fun_ is mass murder?”

Joker’s gaze narrowed with a squint, the malice the look gave off burning strong despite the blood that was no doubt rushing to his head.

“Everything’s a game, _doll_. _Anything_ can be fun if you, ah, _put your mind to it_.” A flick of his tongue accented the words, and you found yourself sneering at his little tidbit of self validating philosophy.

“Why don’t you share your twisted ideology for the inmates at Arkham. I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to listen to you.” Rhetorical, and with a secondary step back Joker’s upside down view of your pretty face was swarmed with a mass of black, SWAT in sharp contrasting letters, and gloved hands that weren’t particularly gentle.

You hadn’t been the one to handcuff him, you gave that little victory to one of the team members. They shoved him onto the ground, face first and maybe even imprinting a messy replica of his ghoulish clown paint onto the concrete in the process. The Joker gave a sort of annoyed grunt, a huff of breath that held no real bite as they commenced with the pat down.

“Gordan, I’ve got the clown. Heading to the precinct in five.” You drew your chin down, angled slightly as you spoke into the black transceiver that clipped onto your uniform. No answer.

“The _Commissioner_ might have his hands a little _full_ right now.”

The Joker’s sinister cadence spoke up, and despite being crushed with a knee to the back, it was steady and taunting. Turning your gaze upon him, you absently noted the plethora of knives that laid in an unkempt pile off to the side. Joker’s face was turned against the ground, and you were right, there was some residual paint there. Although, admittedly, it wasn’t quite as satisfying as you’d thought it would be. Pinned down and cuffed, straining to get a good helping of air in his lungs, and he _still_ showed an impertinent demeanor that made your skin itch from the inside.

“What did you do?” You asked. It held some bite to it, some of your own linguistic poison that seeped through your stoic facade. He’s just another loon, another lowlife scum, _keep telling yourself that_. But this loon was smarter than the average Arkham resident, and you’d be remiss to think otherwise. You wouldn’t go so far as to say you _respect_ his intellect, but you couldn’t deny it altogether. You settled on the term ‘ _evil genius’_ , and not in an endearing way. 

“I thought you weren’t one to play _games_ , officer? I tell you–I might as well deal you in.” He jeered. He looked like he was stifling a laugh, keeping a joke for himself. His black eyes shone in the dim, faraway lighting of the surrounding buildings with a type of demented mirth–y _ou really wanna know? Do you wanna play?–c’mon, let’s play._ Baiting, it was obvious when he grinned.

“Get him up.” You bit, and they did. Roughly. He played hard on the grunts, like it were strenuous for him to be pulled to his feet, keeping himself loose and making it difficult. Like a clown puppet on marionette strings, although you had a heavy feeling the puppet was actually the puppeteer. When they stood him up, he towered. His head was dropped low, his broad shoulders sinking upwards, hunching himself but he still clocked in much taller than yourself. Intimidating, even in cuffs.

“You’re right, I don’t play games. I’m taking you to the MCU, and _you’re not going to blow anything up this time._ I’m shipping you off to Arkham and into a locked six by eight with a new jacket.” You advanced on him, and he eyed you down with a sort of lofty gaze that peered right through you. His entire being was permeated with a distinct stench of gasoline, and gunpowder. You imagined if you lit a cigarette right now, he would ignite quicker than a pile of dry leaves in summer. Tempting, _burn that cocky grin right off his face_ , but you can already hear the victory laugh from the underground. No– _this was his game._ He played it with Batman, he’ll play it with you. “I’m not falling for whatever it is you’re doing, clown. My first priority is making sure you don’t see daylight again.”

“How very _dutiful_ of you. Must be the reason you’re in charge here, hmm? Trying to prove something, _doll?_ Wanna play with the big kids?” He was being blatant now, pushing your buttons and millimeters away from a reaction– _No_ , he’s smart, _very_ smart, not just looking for a reaction, that would be too simple, too _mundane_. He’s prying, picking up the little crumbs of your subconscious that slipped from your metaphorical bread basket. Hungry, licking his fingers after tasting them on his red tongue.

“Haven’t gotten your fill yet, Joker? _Still_ looking to cause more trouble. Don’t worry, _they_ have the means to fix that.” You countered, pushing yourself into his space, close enough that you could feel the subtle warmth that radiated from him.

Everyone had that little invisible wave of heat, the overlooked trait of blood rushing through your veins, of beating hearts and wandering minds, of being _human_. You supposed that’s why it affected you the way it did; startling, as though you forget that he _is just a man_. Living, breathing, desires and fears– _well, maybe he had no fears, you weren’t entirely convinced he did_ –mortal in a way that contradicted his entire being. He felt more akin to the monster you would describe around the fire, when nighttime basked the forest and his face would be lingering in the shadows like some twisted, clown skin wearing _windego_. His teeth would be sharp, elongated, yellow still but dripping with flesh and blood that bordered his mouth in the form of a grin–

“Take him to the truck.” You breathed out, dismissively. As they did, you did not fail to catch the way his mouth, _streaked with red like fresh blood_ , curled into a grin that was nothing short of wicked.

.

The MCU was disastrous after The Joker’s last stay. It was nearly three days ago, but still the place looked as though it were ran through with a semi truck hauling a tornado on it’s hitch. The Clown had kept the entirety of the precinct busy, scrambling around like ants after their hill gets stepped on, all directions. Between keeping the city in a (somewhat) collected state, running just steps behind the Joker’s trail of chaos, and cleaning up whatever havoc he had inflicted in his wake, there was little time to stop and reassemble the precinct. The holding cells were still mildly intact, although the locks on them damaged to a point the doors refused to shut. One cell held the blast point, as well as microscopic remnants of it’s prior inhabitants. You truly felt for the ones that had to clean up _that_ mess, feeling a bit more grateful you were dealing with the perpetrator rather than the gruesome aftermath of his plan. The second most secure point in the precinct would be the interrogation room, and although you did not like the concept of being locked in a room with him, there were really no other solid options.

They stripped the clown down to his vest and slacks. After picking numerous knives from seemingly hidden pockets in his trench, you had opted to take the entire thing, as well as the blazer beneath. _Better safe than sorry,_ you thought.

With arms crossed, you surveyed the process. Patting him down for the umpteenth time, checking his shoes ( _to which they indeed found another knife, built into the shoe itself_ ), you had them take his shoes as well. They uncuffed him, a myriad of SWAT members and a single, murderous clown all huddled in the broken cell just to procure a couple jackets.

“Beneath the vest, too.” You chimed in, from the other side of the bars. Your nails were digging into the upper flesh of your arms through your uniform, innately tense at the lack of restraints on the Joker. His hands were stripped from his leather gloves to reveal an achromatic array of color. Black, white and red mottled his long fingers, which had curled into his palms as though he were holding himself back.

“Why don’tcha just take the vest, too? Better yet–” Joker angled his head down a bit, turning to eye you with a type of deviance that didn’t read murder. “Why don’t _you_ come in and do it yourself, doll? Sure are _keen_ on getting me outta my clothes.” It was clearly taunting, once again trying to find the right buttons. Although his voice was lilted in such a way to tell you, you wouldn’t receive the relenting impunity he gave the SWAT members, It didn’t quite ring out, ‘ _I’m going to kill you.’_ More along the lines of a cat playing with it’s food. The cat wasn’t small, either. Rather the image of a giant, purple tiger. “ _C’mon_ , I’m not gonna _bite_. Trying to _take charge–_ to prove _something_? Tell ‘em you handled me yourself. I’m sure _Gordan_ will have some uh, _high praise_ for ya then.”

You narrowed your gaze, looking past the casual loll of his tongue along his split lower lip and the rapt stare he burned you with, and replied.

“Take the vest, too.”

“Spoilsport.” He huffed.

Once the Joker stood in just his pinstripe slacks and his faded blue dress shirt, he looked remarkably less threatening. It could have been the suspenders, white and neon green, patterned with an array of diamonds. Or the socks, which were color blocks of his ensemble and quite possibly the least intimidating thing about him. With his multitude of layers removed, he looked smaller. Still tall, towering over a handful of the SWAT members, but lean and lithe. There was muscle there, coiled beneath the honeycomb design of his dress shirt, tensed instinctively like a cornered snake gearing to strike.

Once again cuffed–behind the back for your own protection–he was lead through the disaster of the MCU. His shoe-less feet padded along the tiled floor with a nonchalance that irked you, and you fleetingly wished for a stray piece of glass from his explosive getaway days prior to make an appearance. It didn’t, and he was lead into the interrogation room without any new wounds.

.

“Do you need us to stay, keep an eye on ‘em?”

You curled your fingers around the binder in your arm, processing paperwork, while turning from the one way window to look at the man. He had taken off his SWAT helmet, his hair flat and sticking to his flushed face. A quick glance at his Velcro name patch reading DAVIS in bold, white font. Davis was currently glaring at The Joker through the one way, like he’s gazing upon something disgusting if the curl of his lip was anything to go by. You supposed he was.

“I’d appreciate that–don’t know what he’s got going on in that head. Lemme lay down the base, try and get a little information to process him, and we’ll take it from there.” You replied. Davis gave a sharp nod.

“Some sick shit, probably.” Davis seethed. “Nothin’ but a killer–keep your head in the game.” He tore his gaze from The Joker, who was currently shifting in the metal chair, looking like a bear scratching his back against a tree, to you.

“I will.”

Davis looked like he held a bit more resentment toward the Clown than your average cop or SWAT. It occurred to you as you were pushing open the door, the signaling buzz unlocking the thick metal with a jarring loudness, that Joker undoubtedly had a play in some of Davis’ men dying. A true cause to hate someone, but the burn in Davis’ eyes were akin to that of the Jokers, lacking empathy and coldblooded in the form of crystal blue, rather than obsidian. You made a mental note not to leave the Clown alone with him.

After the door shut behind you, you turned your attention to the man of the hour. The florescent lights above beamed onto his managed face and magnified the disordered state of his makeup. It highlighted the hard ridges of his scars, casting small shadows that looked like mountains on his jaw. In the harsh light, you really got a look at them; his scars were jagged and gnarly, tearing through what would have otherwise been smooth skin in an asymmetrical grin. The way the tissue bunched and protruded inclined they were dealt with great force, and the weapon wasn’t particularly sharp. You wondered if they were given to him, or if he had done it himself.

“Well–You sure are a _step up_ from Gordan. He was, uh, _nice and all._ But you’re just a doll, aren’t ya?” He blinked his eyes slowly, regarding you with a slow lick of his lip. You disregarded the comment with a touch of a scoff.

Something about the Joker calling you ‘doll’ left a bitter taste on your tongue. Condescending in a way reminiscent to your time spend in the GCPD. You were pretty, anyone with a set of peepers could tell. You also happened to live in a word where pretty doesn’t equate respect. Quite the opposite, rather. His earlier remarks of _‘Trying to prove something? Wanna play with the big kids?’_ were eerily on mark, but you decided best to keep that knowledge to yourself. Bagging and tagging the Joker would certainly be a step up the ladder, a true testament to your ability as a cop. And, (damn the Clown for being right) put you in the good graces of the Commissioner. You were entrusted with this sideshow murder clown, and you were set on getting it done, preferably with minimal explosions.

“Don’t flatter me, Joker.” You began, lifting your chin as you approached. “Let’s get this over with.” As you pulled the metal chair out, it scraped against the floor and seemingly echoed through the small box of a room.

Joker leaned back against his own seat, black eyes watching you intent as you slid the thick binder onto the table, and sat. There was a sort of ritual police officers initiated when it came to the booking process; normally, you’d be sitting at a desk, and typing all this right into the database, but Joker wasn’t a normal case. Keeping him anywhere that wasn’t a confined space was out of the question. The start of the process begins with one-sided, uncomfortable silence. The perp would sit and wait, and watch, and _fidget_ as you went through the process of entering their information. The cops almost always get a kick out of their nervous squirming from their peripheral. _You know what they say, every cop is power hungry. It could be a tickle, or it could be the full growl of an empty stomach._

You felt that nervous energy, alright. It didn’t come from the Joker, but yourself. Like the table had been spun around, you were sitting in the spotlight and he was analyzing your every move. Every casual lick of your fingertip before sliding on over to the next page. You weren’t the type to revel in the perps nervousness, not really. You had an inkling the Joker would– _imagine, Joker, a cop! Talk about crooked law enforcement._ He’d play with them like a mad doctor would play with their newest patient.

A sigh escaped you. Involuntary, but you couldn’t help it. The first step in processing was getting information. General knowledge that remained cryptic when it came to him. A full name, an age, things that could be found on a driver’s license but you had a feeling Joker didn’t really partake in such things. It was the equivalent of _permission_ in the form of a little plastic card. He didn’t need _permission_ , he’d rather break the rules because _it’s fun._

The Joker grinned, although admittedly it was hard to tell with your head in a binder. He looked like he was smiling all the time, but the way his scars bunched together on his cheeks told you it was there.

He picked up on your little sigh, _breadcrumbs_.

You lifted your head with a steeling breath, _keep it in the basket._

“Well, we don’t need to go in for fingerprints a second time. A _John Doe_ , nothing showed up in the system. That makes it easier.” You began. Joker hummed in response, a low baritone sound that contradicted his usual nasally cadence. “However, I know you have a name that isn’t Joker.”

“That’s what is says on my _drivers license_.” The Joker jeered, leaning forward just a smidgen. Under the light, the shadows on his face elongated to the point it appeared he was melting, his makeup running in streaks to complete the illusion. “Left it at home, though. I can be a bit, ah, _forgetful_ sometimes.”

You were a little struck– _don’t tell me he’s a mind reader, too_ –but you remained composed. Maybe not a mind reader, but something close, something more realistic. You were reminded of a television show about a false psychic, a hyper-aware analyzer who could pick up the smallest details and fit them together, make a picture, summon spot on conclusions by focusing on the small things. The show was a comedy, your situation certainly was not.

“You don’t need to comply with me, Joker. I can fill in the blanks, and ship you off in twenty minutes.” You remarked absently, thumbing the pages. “Just figured I would give you a chance. Y’know, tell your side of the story.” Throw a bone, common tactics used in these types of situations.

Joker squinted, and the whites of his eyes were no longer visible.

“How’s about some give n’ take, doll?”

You quirked a brow, you stopped thumbing the pages.

“You can’t play games with me, I already told you.” You replied, stern. Hold your ground, don’t let him in. You’re curious though– _what would he give?_ The more information, the better. A name, _a real name._

 _“_ You are a _beautiful_ little thing, aren’t ya?” He started up, drawling the word like he was eyeing down a purebred mare on some farm out west. Complimenting, but in a way that belittled. You ground your teeth at that. “Not quite something you’d expect from a cop–a good cop. See, that’s the thing in this world. You can’t be smart _and_ pretty, no dice.” _That_ was a clear, right hand jab of a taunt if you ever heard one.

“You can, and I’ll prove it.” You bit. It slipped past your lips like word vomit, uncontrollable but it needed to be said. Joker grinned again, that blood red mouth stretching until the yellow of his teeth shone through.

“Ah, see–needing to prove something. Wanting to play with the grownups, I could tell before you even said a word, doll. You’ve got this–well, _this little dog, big bite_ thing about ‘ya.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, ‘ _what can I tell ya?’ “_ What would the rest of the _dogs_ think when you take down the _big bad wolf?”_

“You’re being self-important. I was thinking you’re more along the lines of a _mutt_.” You retorted. Joker gave a laugh at that, the sound dug beneath your skin like needles.

“I like that _bite_ , it’s got some force to it.” He jeered, high and riding off the edge of his maniacal laughter. “C’mon, _doll_. Indulge me, gimme something _good_. I’ll return the favor, we could bite each other, a little, ah, _tit-for-tat._ ”

You had a feeling the Joker bites to _wound_ , to draw blood. The fleeting image of _Windego_ Joker appeared again, elongated yellow snare of a mouth dropping crimson splats onto the table between you two. Something about the way he said it, ‘ _we could bite each other_ ’, rang insinuating, sexual in some twisted, sadistic way– _he is just a man._

“I want your information. Your name, your age.” _  
_

“Give n’ take.” He sang out.

“What could you possibly want? You’re _done_ , Joker. You said so yourself, you’re outta the game.” You were growing frustrated, and it showed. Joker paid no mind to your tone.

“There’s always more games, _bunny–” Bunny?_ You felt a flourish of red spike up your neck, heating your skin and itching beneath the collar of your uniform. Condescending pet names, he was digging his claws into your flesh without even touching you. “I guess you wouldn’t _un-der-stand_ , what with being the _straight ‘n narrow cop_ that you are. Bet you thrive on orders, on _praise_. That why you’re so _intent_ on doing this right? You live for that little pat on the head Gordan doles out?”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You snarled. Joker clicked his tongue then, dismissing your rebuke as his sat straight. He stretched his back, pushing his broad shoulders down and rattling the cuffs around his wrists.

“I know you’re too _high on your horse_ to do any wrong–when’s the last time you had some fun, hmm? You’re one of the good ones, I get that. Too good to scrap with _mutts_ like me–”

“Keep pushing, clown.” You cut in, gripping the pages of the binder to a point they nearly ripped from their brackets.

“A good thing, too. You’d get _hurt_ –play it safe, like you do with your career, your _life_.”

You slammed a hand down on the table, and his blood red grin split his face.

“Careful, _sweetheart_. Might _hurt_ yourself.”

“I’ll hurt _you_.” You bit. Somewhere beneath the red that filled your vision you knew this is exactly what he wanted. Lose yourself, drop the carefully crafted walls erected for the sole person of keeping him out. Joker’s eyes were black still, reflecting the harsh florescent with a glimmer of amusement. Your heads were drawn closer over the metal tabletop, metaphorical magnets pulling together until you could feel that warmth again. His breath, billowing against you with each steady exhale through his mangled lips.

“Are ya gonna _bite_ me?”

“Tempted.” More word vomit. _Why did you say that?_ Was it because there was something so inexplicably carnal about him, it radiated? Like a contagious poison that seeped into your own being, melting off the veneer of your civility until you couldn’t help but stoop to his level. Joker’s grin was malicious and debauched in equal balance– _I wanna hurt you until you’re screaming for more._ He didn’t need to say anything, the tension and the unhindered look of hooded arousal in his ebony glare said it all, _clear as day_. If Joker’s wrists weren’t bound at the small of his back, he would have wrapped his hands around your throat and gnawed your lip off, you had no doubt.

The thought, although terrifying, sent an odd flourish down your spine. You shivered, attention slipping from the endless depths of his dilated pupils to his mouth. Red, like blood. Split and mangled, monstrous yellow teeth making a short lived appearance when he licked the wishbone scar on his plump lower lip. Somewhere, deep down in the depths of your own conscious and masked thickly with pride and a burning resentment, there was attraction. It glowed like an ember in the dark, it’s nature was morbid, curious– _what does greasepaint taste like? Are his scars hard, solid? Or would they be soft and plush against your cheek–_ Joker’s hot breath on your face reached down, slipped past the cracks in your mental walls and fanned that ember to the point it burned.

A static voice severed the tension between the two of you, jolting you straight as though you’d been directly zapped with the biting tone on the other end. Joker remained unfazed, once again licking his lip as he threw himself back against the chair. Davis chimed in through the intercom system, his tone incredulous.

“ _Ma’am_ , I think you should take a break.” Forcefully polite, strained as though he were disgusted with you like he were the Joker.

You took a steadying breath, threading your hair with a hand that shook. _You’re shaking–get it together._ A fleeting glance at the Joker rewarded you with a sly grin. He knew, _oh he definitely knew._ Like that ridiculous character from that stupid crime comedy show you watched late at night, he picked up on every little thing. This was starting to feel more humorous, you had to admit. More like a dark, twisted sitcom that fits so perfectly well with the murderous clown that sat before you.

_Good, straight edge cop throws it all out the window because she wants to know what the Joker would feel like. Would his bite draw blood? Would he wrap his hands around your throat and pin you to the metal table? Maybe he would fuck you until the bolts that kept it tethered to the ground sprang free, and you’d both end up on the cold floor going at it like rabbits–wait, here’s the kicker! Gordan walks into the room just as you’re about to cum._

_“When I told you to take care of The Joker, this isn’t what I meant!”  
_

_Cue the laugh track. It was distorted and sounded like the depths of hell._

“Better go, you’re _obedience_ is on the line.” Joker goaded. Your lip curled at that, a sort of snarl that derived from your sinful attraction as well as the contemptuous tone of Davis on the intercom.

“I’ll be back.” You huffed, and Joker grinned.

“I’ll be _waiting_.”

.

Davis was once again glaring through the one way, and you schlepped into the room with a reluctance you never thought you’d feel. The man had his arms crossed over his chest and his chin high, as though better posture made him a better person. The look you received lasted too long for comfort.

“What the hell happened in there?” He finally snapped, harshly. “You were supposed to keep a level head, not let him walk all over you.”

You gaped a beat, before speaking up in defense.

“He’s _smart_ , Davis. I don’t think you get just how smart he is. He’s got this way of-of _getting into your head.”_ You accentuated the words with a frustrated shake of your binder. “And I don’t need you bashing on me, okay? Last I checked, you’re not my boss.” _There, stick it to ‘em._ Davis gave off the type of energy that bad cops gave off to innocent bystanders. The kind that slip a bag of coke into your trunk during an unwarranted car search. It didn’t help that he was being a pretentious asshole, either.

“No, I’m not Gordan. But if I were, I would’ve put you in the sidelines and taken care of the _clown_ myself.” He countered.

You were fuming now, the implications of his bitter words not lost on you. He would have killed The Joker by now, and gone the rest of his days with a happy conscious. Contrite was a foreign word in Davis’ mind– _they let men like this carry guns?_

“Well, you’re not. Knock it off with this _holier than thou_ bullshit, okay? I’ll do my job, you do yours.”

Davis scoffed in his throat, shaking his head before landing his attention on the Joker once more. He gave a wry smile,

“Didn’t realize it was in your job description to make heart eyes at a _freakshow clown._ Figures, huh? The pretty ones are always the craziest.” That was a low blow, even for a man of Davis’ despicable caliber. Your jaw dropped, nails digging into the hard plastic of the binder and you were shocked.

_“Excuse me?”_

Davis opened his mouth to speak, but your transceivers beat him to the punch.

 _‘187—murder suspect on the run—Batman–”_ It was distorted, but it stunned the both of you into a tense silence. Davis plucked his transceiver from his breast pocket,

“Davis, SWAT team is on alert. Last known location?”

You tore your gaze from Davis, and to the one way. Joker was looking right at you, and although you knew he couldn’t see the blanched white of your face, you felt as though he could. He licked his lip, and smiled.

“I suggest leaving the clown to stew, there’s a call for all able officers.”

“I need to get him to Arkham.” You breathed out, tearing yourself from Joker’s apparent x-ray vision to Davis. He looked vexed, as though there were better things to do than deal with _him_. _Like hunt down Batman._

“You go in there, I won’t be here to let you out.” Davis stated, firmly.

“Don’t worry about it–like I said, I do my job, you do yours.” You bit back. You looked at him then, willing a fire to burn in your eyes. Davis looked like he wanted to argue, to weasel in a couple more insults, but he digressed with a shake of his head, and a relenting breath of a laugh.

“Sure as shit not my problem if you end up dead.” He tacked on, moments before the door slammed shut behind him. You glared at the door like it were the one who said it, like it’s russet streaked paint was Davis’ highly punch-able face.

You were fuming mad. Not just at Davis, but the entire system. Who lets someone like that prance around and run operations? The same system that you’d been investing your entire life on, that’s who. Years spent climbing the splintered, fucked up and grueling ladder that lead you to this moment–prove you’re worth something, take care of the Joker. And then what? Joker’s nasally cadence spoke up in your head, _‘You live for that little pat on the head Gordan doles out?’_ He was right. The Joker was right, and you’d be lying if you said you were surprised. Everything he’s said was hitting the nail on the head.

You were just another gun toting, badge wearing yes man.

_‘when’s the last time you had some fun?’_

You pivoted in place, and just like moments prior the Joker was staring right at you. What went through your head was a bad, terrible, _stupid_ idea. You were well aware of that.

.

You had insisted that you were fine after Karla gave you a very worried sideways glance. She was the receptionist, an older officer who had resigned to her fate at the desk, and was actually quite lovely if you got to know her. She was plump, in her mid fifties, and the only other person left in the precinct besides you, and The Joker.

“I’ll give you a ring if something happens–I’m just ‘this close’ to getting some information from him.” You made a gesture with your hands, and Karla gave a tremulous sigh.

“You keep those cuffs on him. Someone’s gotta watch the front, so I can’t be in here to keep an eye on you.” Karla sounded like an overbearing mother, and if you weren’t so keen on locking yourself in there with him, you would have been touched. “The man’s a loon. Just remember that strap on your hip, and don’t let ‘em get too close.” Her warm chestnut gaze darted to your gun that sat heavy in it’s holster _. How could you forget?_

“I won’t.”

You had rid yourself of your uniform shirt, your army green tank allowing the room to bask your shoulders and arms with a chill. The buzz ended, and the door shut behind you.

“Oh, now you’re just _asking_ for something to happen.” Joker jeered, letting his obsidian gaze blatantly travel your exposed torso. You disregarded him, approaching your chair with a nonchalance that contradicted the excited thrum of your heart, like a string pulling taut and released. Karla would certainly wait a moment before leaving you to your own devices, which in turn gave you a moment to ponder on your actions.

The simple thought of doing what you were about to do was freeing. It was asinine, completely reckless in a way you’d never really dabbled in. You’d spent a majority of your adult life following societies guidelines on how to be a good person. You’d spent years crawling your way to the top of an unrelenting food-chain, where everything was rotten and dark in the core. _Years_ being a textbook people-pleaser. _None of that, now_. Maybe it was in spite. In spite of the Joker, in spite of Davis, in spite of everything you’ve made yourself out to be.

You walked past your chair and over an invisible line etched into the cold floor of the interrogation room. Joker’s obsidian glare followed, intrigued but dark in a way he knew what was coming. Of course he did–you were seconds away from kissing him before Davis called in on the intercom. You could deny it all you want (and right now, you really didn’t care), but that moment was practically sparking with sexual tension. You may not be able to revel in a surprised clown, the thrill of catching him off guard, but the way his gaze burned you made up for it. It held the carnal idiosyncrasy as before, a type of inhuman glow that you’d never seen on anyone else.

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t need to.

Joker pushed himself further from the table, his socks nearly slipping on the cold floor with the force of it, and allowing you your own little perch on his lap. You threw a leg over him, immediately finding your hands in his hair as you dipped down and kissed him. It was like ripping off a band-aid– _do it quick, before you change your mind, before you think about it._ His lips were soft and sticky, and the taste of greasepaint was not at all what you imagined. He had tilted his head back, reciprocating with an eagerness that made your stomach coil in anticipation.

 _This is happening. Is this really happening?_ His scars were strange, soft in some spots, hard like stones embedded into his skin in others. You felt the wishbone scar on his lower lip, the split with the tip of your tongue. It tasted bitter, but bit as though it were spicy. He flicked his own tongue out, catching yours with a touch that sent sparks down your spine. A blood red mouth that smeared crimson across your face, that kissed with a hunger that wanted to eat you whole. It was messy, and wet and it escalated to the point you tasted the monstrous yellow teeth within, the roof of his mouth, the flavor of something so utterly foreign it didn’t feel human at all– _Windego_ popped up again, just in time for him to sink his teeth into the plush flesh of your lower lip. Copper was filling your senses, a sting as though you had been nicked with a blade drawing a short sharp whine from your throat. _The Joker bites to wound_ , and he sucked your lip as though the taste of blood was as refreshing as a cool drink on a hot summers day.

You could feel him beneath you, hard as a rock underneath your thick uniform pants and the pinstriped slacks he dawned. You ground your hips down, pushing yourself against him to earn a growl that vibrated his entire being. Letting your lip go, Joker angled his head back and eyed you.

“Take the cuffs off.” He demanded. The whimsical, jeering tone he had taken on earlier thrown out the window in favor of a gravelly snarl. It made your skin rise with gooseflesh. You gripped his hair tighter, the feel of it filthy and slick between your fingers.

“Not happening.” You breathed out. You were absently rutting against him now, and how he kept his composure was a marvel to you. His cock was straining, the thickness of it felt even through the multitude of layers. Joker’s glare narrowed, looking dangerous and threatening despite his compromising position. For a fleeting moment, you almost listened.

“I’ll be _nice_ – _promise_.” He tacked on. It sounded the furthest from genuine you could imagine. You didn’t believe it for a second, not to mention this wasn’t about _just_ pleasure. To put it crude, you want to assert yourself. You wanted to have the clown writhing beneath you, to have that _control_. What better way to taste the power you’d been shying from for years, than to dominate someone like The Joker?

“No. You’re going to take what I give you.” You began, and the look you received was sharper than any of the blades he could have possibly owned. “ _And–”_ You continued on, shimmying yourself further down his long thighs until you no longer felt his cock. “You’re going to say _thank you.”_

“You’re pushing it, doll.” He growled.

“No, you’ll know when I’m pushing it. You won’t be able to talk anymore.” You replied, lightly. At that, you palmed him. Joker gave a sharp intake, but no real reaction other than a burning glare. With quick hands, you un-clipped his suspenders and tugged on the fastens of his slacks. He didn’t budge, and you realized his pride was aligned with your determination.

“What’s the matter, clown? Thought you wanted me to _indulge_ you.” You breathed out, craning your neck until you had the means to bite him. You dug your teeth into the tawny skin of his exposed neck, pushing your own boundaries with the force of it. There was something so _animalistic_ to it; your jaw strained just slightly with the force, the initial puncture of skin sounded like a deafening pop in your ears, and his blood tasted like metal on your tongue. Joker groaned then, his hips pushing upwards and nearly shoving you off his lap. The sound of it made you shudder. It was dipped in unhindered arousal, the most debauched thing you ever had the privilege of hearing.

With haste hands, you maneuvered his slacks to a point you could work with, slipping your fingers past the fabric until they wrapped around his thick girth. It was hot, smooth like velvet, and throbbing beneath your palm. When you pulled him free, you broke from his neck and glanced between your bodies.

“Look at that, you are a man after all.” You mused. Joker gave a short snarl, his hips absently thrusting upwards and jostling you in the process.

“Get on with it–”

You hummed in contemplation, marveling at the way your fingers couldn’t quite wrap completely around him. Giving short strokes close to the head, which was leaking pearly white from his tip, you earned yourself the closest thing to a moan thus far. With a smooth grace you swiped your thumb over him, drawing the sticky substance downwards. A couple sets of this, and your hand was effectively jerking him off, the slick sound of it like erotic music that bounced around the small confined room.

You flipped your hair over your shoulder, glancing up to see what was one of the most endearing things you’d bore witness to; Joker’s eyes were slipped shut, his jaw clenched hard enough to see the roll of muscle in his cheeks. His head was angled back to provide a breathtaking view of his neck, which still bled from your earlier attack. You imagined he had the strength to buck you right off him, maybe even pin you down against the table, even with the cuffs on. But he didn’t. He gave deep, chest rising breaths that stuttered slightly when you coaxed a groan from his lips, and you liked to think it was because he was too caught up in his pleasure to care.

You _squeezed_ him, the pulse of his cock throbbing under your vise grip– _do this to any other man, he’d cry_. Joker looked seconds away from cumming, his voice escaping him with a lewd, feral groan. You kept that iron hold and continued stroking him, down to the thick patch of black hair at his base, all the way to the tip of his weeping head. A vein popped in his neck, his body tensed to the point it felt you were sitting on concrete rather than thighs, and you gave a final, slow pull before pulling your hand away completely.

Joker gave a sharp huff of breath, jerking his head up from it’s angled position to throw you the most terrifying look you’d ever seen. You gave a sweet smile in response.

“You don’t wanna play this game, _doll_ –” He began, his voice winded as though he had just run a marathon. “Take the cuffs off, and I’ll give you some, ah, _mercy_.” He flicked his tongue out, dashing it across his lower lip so quick you almost didn’t catch it.

“Did I find a game the Joker doesn’t like?” You countered, tauntingly. You tried to ignore the innate fear he instilled, the way your heart hammered against your chest to a point it rang in your ears.

“ _More like a game you won’t win._ ” He rebuked. You disregarded it, and began working on the confines of your own pants. It was a little tricky, taking the entire belt off you absently tossed it on the table behind you. What was more challenging, however, was shimmying your pants and underwear down just enough to expose yourself to the chill air. Goosebumps tickled the insides of your thighs, but was soon replaced with the hot warmth of Joker’s exposed skin.

“Last chance, _bunny_.” He growled, drawing your attention from the chasm between your bodies. You reached between your thighs, grabbing hold of his cock once more with a squeeze.

“Like I said–not happening.” You were determined now. You’ve gotten this far, you were seeing this through. The fear that licked at your heels didn’t matter anymore. You raised your hips up and grazed his tip against your wet folds with a shiver that said otherwise.

Slowly, you eased him inside you. He stretched you in a way that was foreign, splitting you with a pain that urged you to stop. You inhaled sharply, subconsciously holding your breath as you sank down until your thighs were flush with his bony hips. _Oh God, he’s so big–_ your hands snapped to his shoulders, digging into the hardness as you felt him in the deepest parts of your body. Joker was ridged beneath you, and you dared a glance to see why; his brows were knit tight, closed lids and grit teeth with an expression akin to agony. You’d never seen that look before, especially in this context.

“ _Move–now.”_ His voice was contorted, in part the hardness of which he clenched his jaw as well as the sinfully tight vise of your walls around him. You didn’t need to be told twice; he filled you with a pressure that ached, that demanded relief. Slowly, you rolled your hips, and you could feel the veins of his shaft, the way he grazed against every bit of you, as though you were hugging him from the inside. It hadn’t occurred to you that you _were–_ clenching involuntarily around his thick length so tight he hadn’t the means to form a proper sentence.

Gradually, you developed a pace. It was ragged, and somewhat erratic, an ever changing momentum that consisted of rolling your hips, and bouncing. You clung to his shoulders, gliding forward and back on his cock and reveling in the feeling of him dragging inside you– _salacious_ , it was so good you couldn’t contain the moans that spilled from your lips. It felt as though you were impaled, the sharp bite of pain every time he bumped towards your cervix sending a rush of shivers down your spine.

Joker looked no more composed than you; he was perpetually growling, his voice strangled and low to the point he sounded feral. He was still tense, like being in this position was putting him on edge, and you had no doubt it was. You held your pace, your thighs burning from the impromptu bout of exercise riding him gave, while reaching out and grabbing his hair. You threaded your fingers in the tangled mess, yanking him forward until his torso leaned with him, pressing your chests together in unison to your mouths. He gave no reluctance, meeting you in the kiss with a rush of messy tongue strokes and fleeting bites. You drank in the sounds that vibrated in his throat, dashing around his mouth to memorize the nooks and crannies with a wanton moan of your own.

Euphoria was on the horizon, you could feel it. It swelled in your belly like a mass swarm of butterflies, ached deep in your core with a pressure that demanded release. Your movements grew long, rolling upwards with a graceful arch of your back, like you were dancing atop him.

“Fuck–oh my God!” You gasped, pulling back while digging your nails into his scalp. Joker gave a growl in response, bringing his mouth to yours once again, this time capturing your swollen lip with his teeth. Biting down where he had moments prior, you could nearly feel the cut there split open before you were rushed with copper once again. You never thought you’d be the type to get off on pain. Masochist was a word that never applied, but the sharp, stinging hurt that Joker gave was the final piece atop your tumbling tower. You came around him; riding out the electric pleasure that coursed through every nerve in your body with jerky movements, your legs nearly giving out as you damn near cried from the pleasure.

You were a quivering mess when you came back down, dropping your head against his hard shoulder, you panted. He was still hard inside you, throbbing and you can _feel_ him, your pussy convulsing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

You felt a hand on your head.

For a brief moment, you thought nothing of it. Basking in your bliss filled stupor, it felt rather nice. Reality hit, and your eyes widened in realization. You scrambled a bit, but Joker’s hand quickly grabbed hold of your hair, wrapping it around until his knuckles were flush against your skull. That terror from before came back, full throttle.

“Hope you enjoyed that.” He remarked. You gave a sort of strangled whine as he pulled, yanking you from the warmth of his chest until you sat straight on his cock. His glare was hell fire embodied–all things deviant, malevolent, and _wicked_ packed into the blackened depths of his dilated pupils. He brought his other hand upwards then, cuffs hanging from his wrist, which grabbed hold of your jaw. It wasn’t gentle, the bite of his nails digging into the smooth flesh of your chin.

“Shame, bunny. You could’ve had _mercy_.”

Words were lost. Floating away from your grasp in the smoke of your burning mind– _he’s going to kill me._ You felt like you were trapped in a room with a very pissed off, hungry lion. He brought his thumb up to your lip, swiping it across and drawing a blot of blood onto the pad, before closing in for a kiss.

He stood, and you buried your nails deep into the solid muscle of his shoulders, willing it to be enough. Joker remained unfazed, lowering you none to gently to the cold metal table, your head just barely missing the belt from your uniform. _Your gun was on that belt_ –you quickly slapped a hand against the surface, scrambling upwards in a blind search for the weapon. You turned your head from the kiss, and Joker gave a sharp laugh.

“No cheating, doll.” He snatched it up before you even laid eyes on it, dangling it precariously for a beat that felt like an eternity. He had your gun. You were locked in a room with him, four inches of solid steel assured you stayed there, _and he has your gun._

“Oh don’t worry–” He began, absently dropping it off the edge of the table, the sound of it hitting the floor solid. “I’ve got better things in mind than _killing_ you.” It was cold, and wound together with a sadistic promise of pain.

Before you could even comprehend what his next move was, he reached down and grabbed a hold of your thighs, curling his fingers into the plush flesh and pushing upwards until your knees hit your chest. Air suddenly became precious, your vision obscured by your black uniform pants that still hung around your ankles. He thrust himself forward roughly, driving in to the hilt in one sharp, excruciating movement. You clawed the table, a short scream ripping from your throat and muffled by your position. He was crushing you, leaning himself over your legs and burying himself impossibly deep.

“ _Oh–there we go.”_ He growled, his hands sliding up until they dug into the backs of your knees, wrapping fingers around to keep you in place. When he moved, he was true to his word– _mercy? No such thing_. Joker proceeded to fuck you into the metal table with a force that rattled your bones. His hips collided with your ass with every shunt forward, pushing himself as deep as he could possibly go, _that, he made sure of._ It ached in every possible way–felt as though he were tearing you apart. His throaty grunts were deep, heavy, the sounds of a man basking in sinful pleasure. It made you shudder, it made you clench around him and drip impossibly wet, the slick sound of his cock slamming your pussy nothing short of obscene. Pleasure rolled through you once more, forced through your body at his ministrations, and when he brought his hand down to your clit, it took hold.

He circled it harshly, rubbing vigorously until your cunt spasmed around him. It drew him in deeper, urging a guttural moan from his mangled lips. _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my **God** –_words that you didn’t realize you were chanting aloud, your mind someplace else, someplace where you drowned in pleasure, the air you breathed in was nothing but hot magma that burned you from the inside out. Pleasure enveloped you, and you _screamed_.

When he pulled out, it felt as though he were taking a piece of your being with him. You felt empty, dripping with your own arousal and absolutely wrecked. He tugged on your shoes, tossing them haphazardly behind him before yanking off your pants– _he’s not done._ The pressure you felt against your cunt was slick, coaxing a small whine from your lips. With a delirious glance down your heaving torso, you were greeted with the sight of his head between your legs. And this, _after everything you’ve done_ , was the first thing to make you blush. He tongued your pussy, lapping up your arousal like a hungry dog, his hands pushing your newly freed legs apart with a firm touch against your inner thighs. When he dragged his tongue upwards to swirl your clit, your fingers found his hair.

“ _Please_.” You breathed out. The true meaning of it was lost on you, but the tug forward you gave inclined it was meant for more. Joker hummed against you, sending a wave of vibration right up your spine. He brought a hand down, running it along your slit while sucking your clit between his teeth. He eased two fingers inside you, scissoring and curling them in search of your G-spot, and when he found it, he did not relent. A sharp gasp burst from your lips as he pressed hard against it, giving a tugging motion that made you see stars. This, in combination to the vigorous force he used to suck your clit, drew you to an unexpected and _fierce_ orgasm. It was too soon, your body still riding the high of the last one, and you curled inwards with a desperate hold of his hair. Legs raised, torso pushed upwards as though you were frozen mid sit-up, you came with a strangled, high keen of a moan. Joker continued, despite the weak pull you gave on his hair, and drank you up with a pleased growl.

When he finally pulled away, your body went lax. Legs dangled off the edge of the table, arms thrown out on either side of you, you stared up at the florescent with an empty expression. It eclipsed when he brought his lengthy torso over your own, his hair glowing like seaweed in beams of light. That blood red smile was gone and replaced with the tawny hue of his natural skin color. He kissed you again, the bitter taste of greasepaint now a salty tang that held a subtly sweet aftertaste. You kissed him back.

In a flurry of movement, you were gripped by the waist and flipped, your cheek making contact with the metal table just hard enough to bite. Your head was turned, and you saw your reflection in the one way. Joker stroked his cock, still hard and leaking, an angry red now that demanded to be relived. Your legs quivered, slick wet slithering down your thighs. He leaned himself over you, and slid home. You clawed the table absently– _It ached,_ your cunt sore and throbbing, the feeling of him filling you up once again eliciting a shudder, and a whine. One paint speckled hand found the table, steadying his lengthy frame, the other your waist. He wrapped his arm around you, bracing you with the hardness of his forearm as though it were a contraption to keep you safe during a wild ride on a roller-coaster. Joker brought his face to yours, his entire body laid over your own. You could feel the rapid thud of his heart against your back.

“They’re probably in there, _watching_ you.” He jeered, and though you knew you were the only ones here, it still made your heart skip in your chest. You gave another whine, words lost in the subtle back and forth of his waist, pushing himself deep but never straying far. “That something you get off on, _bunny?_ Kicked off your moral _pe-de-stal_ , moaning like a _whore_ as I fuck you in front of your precious _commissioner_ –wonder what he thinks of you now, hmm?” 

It’s just you and him–but you couldn’t help but imagine their faces on the other side of the one way, watching with some type of contempt as The Joker fucks you into a stupor. You were pushing your hips back against him, palms flat against the table as leverage, driving yourself onto his cock with a desperate, agonizing mewl. The thought of it made your chest ache, some sick type of allurement you never thought you’d even consider- _-what_ if _there’s someone in there?  
_

The Joker gave a sharp laugh, pushing his face into the damp crook of your neck and shoulder,

“ _Hmm–_ ” A hum, low and throaty, “ _Naughty_ little thing. You’re thinkin’ about it, aren’t ya?” He said, licking a stripe upwards towards your ear. You shivered, his tongue leaving a trail of wet saliva that cooled in the air. His hand slithered from the table, shoved beneath your torso before climbing up to your neck. He wrapped his fingers around your throat, his forearm hard against your sternum as he pulled himself straight, and brought you with. Your first instinct was to grab his arm, curling your fingers around the taut muscle, but The Joker’s hold on you was like steel.

“C’mon, _kitten_ – _give ‘em a show.”_ He panted against your ear, his hold on your neck gliding upwards until his fingers splayed along the underside of your jaw, turning your head forcefully toward the one way. Through your bleary vision you watched as The Joker found a new pace, his lithe body working with an inexorable back and forth that had you in a perpetual state of bliss. The ache bloomed into a full body warmth, the feeling of his cock dragging along your throbbing cunt a delicious cocktail of pleasure and pain. He pushed and pulled you as though you were nothing more than an object at his disposal, fucking you hard and fast. The sound of your bodies coming together slick, your moans and his feral growls coalesced to create a cacophony of pleasure– _obscene._ The image before you sent wild shivers down your spine, it was erotic and sinful and _thrilling._

 _“_ Please–p-please– _harder!”_ You gasped out. _What is wrong with you?_ Joker gave a sharp sort of snarl that had your stomach coil, before roughly pushing you back down onto the table. His hand left your neck in favor of a handful of your hair, wrapping it around his fist and tugging, yanking you against him to the point you felt he’s rip it from the root. It was building inside you–each time his hips met your ass it pushed a little more, filling and filling until it threatened to spill over the rim. His violent growls grew erratic, stuttering in his chest, which he had pressed against your back. His weight was crushing, drawing the air from your lungs with an uncontrollable moan, pinning you to the point you couldn’t move. He dropped his head down, taking a heaping bite from your neck, teeth digging in until it broke past the tension of your skin.

You screamed. It was strangled, and broken and sounded harrowing–like you were being killed, rather than cumming violently around his cock. Joker latched himself onto your neck, growling in his chest and the vibration tingled against your newly acquired wound. When he did let go, it was with a moan that racked his entire body. He pushed himself deep, burying his throbbing cock with erratic thrusts, keeping himself inside you with short, sharp movements. His inhuman snarls simmered to violent huffs of breath, hot against your neck and adding to the glowing warmth that enveloped you. He came–you could feel it, the hot sensation of him filling you, seeping down your thighs and sticky between your bodies. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, the residual paint adhering to your sweat slicked skin as he floated in his moment of bliss.

Your body was sweltering, glowing like the ember before ignited and burned you to the point you were nothing but bone. It didn’t feel real–air rushed into your lungs, the ache of him pulling out drawing a shiver down your spine, but you felt as though you were looking from the outside in. Your reflection; you laid on the table like a corpse, un-moving and lifeless, the shuddering rise and fall of your torso the only thing that kept you tethered. Joker ran his hand down your spine, and the innate instinct to arch your back was lost, _you were lost._ You watched with absent attention as his hand disappeared between your quivering thighs, a weak moan scratching past your throat on instinct as he slid them inside your pussy, curling and pulling, drawing his cum out until it slid down your thighs like molasses.

“What did I tell you, doll?” He asked, his voice irritatingly level despite the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Grabbing your hair once more, he kept you in place as he brought his fingers to your mouth. He drew along your lips, coating them in his seed with a touch reminiscent of applying lipstick, before pushing past them and pressing down on your tongue. You had the urge to gag, the taste of it bitter and heady, invading your senses. _“It’s a game you wouldn’t win._ ” He pushed them further, and this time, you did gag. His breath was heavy still, rapt as he watched your expressions like a hawk, reveling in your defeated state. Your tongue pushed back, and you found yourself licking his fingers, a mewl of a whine bubbling past your throat.

Finally, he drew himself back.

His body left yours, and the chill in the room became ever apparent. Goosebumps riddled your skin, the urge to stand _there_ but you didn’t trust your legs, not with the way they quivered. Joker situated himself, and you watched as he fastened his pants and clipped his suspenders back in place as though he hadn’t just fucked you to the point of incoherence. It was lofty, like getting ready in the morning, lazy movements. When he dipped down and plucked your belt from the floor, your heart stuttered.

_Oh, this is where you die._

But he didn’t kill you, instead he snatched the key to the cuffs, absently tossing the belt onto the table beside you and earning a flinch from your limp body. Your fingers splayed against the table, in position to push yourself up but you couldn’t seem to find the strength. Joker casually released the cuffs, tossing the key onto your back before readjusting them. With as much strength as you could muster, you flipped yourself over, giving a groan at the ache of your body.

“Better hurry up, bunny–who _know’s_ when they’ll come back.” He warned, and although it sounded sincere, there was a type of mischievous burn in his glare.

“They’re hunting Batman.” You simply replied, as though that meant they would be gone forever, as though it excused the disordered state of your appearance. Joker gave a short giggle, clicking the cuffs back around his wrists before taking a seat.

“Oh, I know.”

Suddenly, the door buzzed.

Your heart leaped a full ten yards, your attention snapping to the door as– _surprise suprise!_ –Gordan walked in. Mortified wasn’t a word that could describe what you felt in that moment. Given enough time, you might be able to invent a new word, something that effectively portrayed the utter embarrassment and humiliation that crawled across your skin in the form of a full body blush. _Oh God_ , that terrible morbid sitcom was playing out in real time. Absently, you heard Gordan yell,

“What the hell happened in here?!” You flinched.

The laugh track played, it’s sound eerily like that in your imaginary sitcom. A full on cackle that bounced around the room, like the depths of hell embodied, _like a hyena._


End file.
